


Periods and Tampons and Pads, Oh My

by knightlyss



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: F/M, based on that scene from ten inch hero, i think, jackson is mentioned, this is just pure fluff, you know the one
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-10
Updated: 2017-01-10
Packaged: 2018-09-16 14:30:15
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,876
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9276125
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/knightlyss/pseuds/knightlyss
Summary: “We're out of tampons and pads as well,” Clarke says over breakfast, scribbling on a notepad and acting as if she's not turning his world upside down. He freezes with his spoon hanging in the air, staring at her like a deer caught in headlights. For some reason it hasn't occurred to him until now that they actually have to stock up on these things.“Tampons,” he repeats hoarsely when his brain starts working again.Or, Bellamy and Miller go on a supply run and get more than they bargained for





	

 

 

 

Contrary to popular belief, Bellamy Blake is scared of a lot of things.

 

He's scared of all his loved ones dying and leaving him behind in this wretched excuse of an existence, letting him live out his remaining days in solitude. He's scared of people turning the tables on him and damning him when they realise that he's a useless human being that causes more destruction than hope. He's scared of his sister, which goes without saying, really.

 

Even with all he's seen, in all it's horror and mutated glory, he's still a little bit scared of spiders.

 

Which, all in all, makes it all the more interesting that female hygiene products have managed to crawl their way to the top of his list in less than five seconds.

 

“We're out of tampons and pads as well,” Clarke says over breakfast, scribbling on a notepad and acting as if she's not turning his world upside down. He freezes with his spoon hanging in the air, staring at her like a deer caught in headlights. For some reason it hasn't occurred to him until now that they actually have to stock up on these things.

 

“Tampons,” he repeats hoarsely when his brain starts working again.

 

“And pads,” Raven adds casually from beside Clarke, smirking at him and taking a bite out of her apple. He blinks and puts the spoon down, catching Raven smirking around her bite as he pushes away his oatmeal, having suddenly lost his appetite. He tries his best glare at her, but it doesn't quite have the desired effect, only causing her to giggle instead. Clarke looks up curiously from the shopping list she's making, catching sight of Bellamy and Raven's unspoken conversation, and actually groans.

 

“Don't tell me you're afraid of the female reproductive system, Bellamy,” she pleads, raising an eyebrow at him.

 

“Of course not,” he says a little too brusquely, causing Raven to snort loudly, scaring a few kids at the next table.

 

“Seriously, dude? You have a sister.”

 

“Observant as always, Reyes.”

 

“Hey, I'm just saying, considering that Octavia was in hiding, you must have known something was up.”

 

“Of course, but I only helped her twice.”

 

Clarke frowns.

 

“Only twice?” she asks, and Bellamy can see the gears in her head turning, already slipping into doctor mode and trying to calculate the probability of an 18 year old getting her first period at 16. He kind of figured that it's uncommon to get it so late into your teen years in general, but Octavia had been malnourished, raised as a fugitive and made to live under the floorboards all her life, constantly under stress of being found out. If he were her, he'd have developed late, too.

 

As it is, he remembers perfectly well the first time he had woken up following a day of particularly ruthless checkups to reveal a shaking Octavia in his bed, laying in a pool of her own blood, tears streaming steadily down her cheeks, her body and clothes streaked with red. That memory is a bit more than he can handle at eight in the morning, so he resorts to letting a hand drag over his face, sighing deeply and wishing for the image to fade.

 

“She was a late bloomer,” he mumbles finally, settling the heel of his hand under his chin and closing his eyes, refusing to let himself cooperate any further.

 

Talking about Octavia still hurts.

 

“Considering the implants, I'd say we're all late bloomers,” Raven shrugs, taking another bite of her apple. Bellamy opens one eye to glare at her through his fingers, finding her once again smirking back at him like she knows perfectly well which buttons to push. He's secretly glad that they're not all trying to kill each other any more.

 

“What about Harper and Monroe?”

 

“Guard duty,” Clarke replies, looking unimpressed. “Bellamy, it's literally just boxes of tampons.”

 

“And pads,” he grumbles automatically, but forces himself to sit up straighter, peering over at the shopping list. “Don't tell me chocolate is on that list, too?”

 

“Go float yourself, chocolate is awesome,” Raven points out, which, fair enough.

 

Resigned, he groans and gets out of his seat, grabbing his tray and heads towards the exit where Miller is waiting for him, arms crossed and looking decidedly bored. The supply run isn't going to take longer than a day if they head out immediately after breakfast, and they can probably make it home by dark if their horses sprint part of the way, but he still feels a great reluctance to go at all. Miller takes one look at Bellamy and snorts, as if he knows exactly why the latter is looking a bit paler than usual.

 

“Shut up,” Bellamy grumbles, shoving past him and into the sun, Miller's laugh following him to their horses waiting by the gate.

 

“Want me to hold your hair back while you ralph?”

 

“Let's just get this over with,” he calls over his shoulder, swinging up into the saddle and trotting out of camp before he can change his mind.

 

They save the expected hiccup for last, being the manly men that they are.

 

At least that's what he tells himself.

 

For some ungodly reason, they hit the jackpot in terms of storage about two months ago, when Raven and Clarke managed to find a bunker that not only contained hygiene and beauty products, but also lots and lots of alcohol. Raven immediately speculated that it had belonged to some girly sorority always mentioned those godawful teen movies, and Bellamy isn't exactly inclined to disagree with her, judging by the wall to wall faded pink/salmon wallpaper, and the dusty pillows that once upon a time used to be brighter in colour. Miller shudders visibly as he pinches a faded lilac pillow between his thumb and forefinger, holding it up to inspect it closer.

 

“Did girls really live like this?” he asks horrified, throwing the pillow back to join the rest on an ugly faded-cream couch. Bellamy shrugs, scouring the shelves for anything usable, coming up with a bottle of alcohol. He pulls it from the shelf and turns it to read the label that reads _Peach Schnapps_.

 

Good lord, he doesn't even want to know if that's still drinkable.

 

“Lets just find the damn tampons and get it over with.”

 

“And pads,” Miller points out, ducking out of the way when Bellamy hurls a green throwpillow at his head.

 

And then he sees it.

 

Sighing in relief, he heads past Miller towards the bathroom door, shouldering it open. It's far from spacious, especially with some sort of laundry basket shoved off to the side next to the toilet that definitely hasn't been cleaned in a while. Grimacing, he reaches inside and catches the edge of the basket, dragging it across the floor and outside, slamming the door and blocking out the horrid stench before it can fill the bunker.

 

“Score,” Miller exclaims gleefully, reaching out and opening the lid and peering inside.

 

He slams it shut a second later, drawing back, eyes wide.

 

“Uh oh.”

 

“What?”

 

“We have a problem.”

 

Brow furrowed, Bellamy joins Miller. Together they lean over the basket, opening the lid again and peering inside, momentarily stunned into silence.

 

“Should we just grab all of it?”

 

 

~*~

 

 

 

She fears the worst when the walkie talkie suddenly crackles on the table, Bellamy's slightly panicked voice breaking through the static. Heart in her throat, she presses the button.

 

“Bellamy?”

 

“Oh, thank God.”

 

“Bellamy, what's wrong?”

 

“It's the tampons.”

 

For a second she's sure she's heard wrong.

 

“The what?”

 

“The tampons,” Bellamy says, this time sounding a little calmer than before, “There's too many of them. We need to fall back and regroup.”

 

She feels the hysterical laugh pressing against her windpipe. Her body is already on high alert on account of his panicked state, the adrenaline pumping through her veins, all because Bellamy fucking Blake is afraid of feminine hygiene products. She could tell he had an issue with it, but this...

 

This is on another level.

 

“Just... Be calm. Describe the situation,” she orders once she's sure she's got her voice under control, thankful that she's alone on her shift in the infirmary. She's pretty sure anyone listening in besides her would be more than worried at this man's apparent level of discomfort.

 

“There's um... There's bags and boxes. Which do you want?”

 

“Just grab a few of both. Do you see any tampon boxes marked _regular_?”

 

There's a bit of shuffling on the other end before the walkie cuts out, and she imagines him and Miller up to their elbows in bags and boxes, trying to make sense of the question. The laugh in her throat gets dangerously close to escaping again.

 

“There's _slender_ and _regular_ ,” he says a minute later, “but why is it both? Aren't the two mutually exclusive?”

 

“I really don't know, Bell.”

 

“So you don't want these _super plus_ ones?”

 

“Yeah sure, just not so many.”

 

“Why not? They sound better.”

 

“They're huge, Bellamy.”

 

There's a pause so palpable she's half tempted to reach out and see if she can actually touch it.

 

“... And that's bad?” he finally asks, to which Miller snorts loudly in the background. Bellamy hisses at him to shut up, and Clarke tries desperately to keep it together.

 

“Bigger isn't always better, you know,” she manages.

 

“I know that, smartass, but shouldn't you want the bigger ones?I mean, it says here that it can handle any amount of... Oh my God.”

 

There's the sound of a box being dropped on the floor, and Clarke finally loses it, putting down her walkie and letting loose the laugh that's been bubbling up inside her for the past few minutes. The other end has gone suspiciously quiet as well, and she can only imagine how much fun Miller is having. Reluctantly, she gets her breathing under control and picks up the walkie.

 

She's definitely sending him on another supply run after this.

 

“Just get a bit of everything, Bellamy.”

 

“Roger that. We should be back sometime after dinner. And Clarke?”

 

“Yeah?”

 

“Stop laughing.”

 

She snorts loudly before she can cut off the walkie, proceeding to lay her forehead on the cold surface of the table in front of her. Jackson chooses that moment to walk into the med bay, shooting her a somewhat worried look. She can only imagine what she must look like, all flushed and happy and slightly out of breath.

 

That doesn't happen often any more.

 

 

~*~

 

 

As promised, Bellamy and Miller arrive late back at Arkadia, as evidenced by the sudden chill that lurches her out of sleep.

 

“Your feet are cold,” she grumbles, burrowing her head into the pillow.

 

“Yeah well, you laughed at me.”

 

“Did not.”

 

“Did to,” he snorts, leaning over and kissing her on the cheek. “Go back to sleep.” She sighs in reply and reaches out behind her, dragging his arm over her in a half embrace. He shuffles closer, tightening his grip around her, nudging the back of her head with his nose. She smells of shampoo and plants and happiness.

 

Knowing that he has played a part in that makes him volunteer for the next supply run, much to Clarke's amusement.

 

**Author's Note:**

> First fic of the new year, yay! Also, I'm still not good with fluff


End file.
